“It’s more like four in the morning.”
“No wonder I feel like I’m having a heart attack,” she said. “Don’t you ever sleep at night?”
I thought about it. “No,” I said. “I don’t seem to. Not often, at least.”
I told her why I’d come. I told her about Holly. There was no one else to tell, really. I told her and sipped my alcohol. It was warm and mixed with clashing flavors. I didn’t care. It tasted like gasoline, but I still drank it.
Jenna tried to comfort me, but it didn’t work. After I finished my drink, I took a shower, then I passed out on her bed. The last memory I had was of dawn gleaming under the heavy hotel curtains and of Jenna gently pulling a sheet over me.
At about noon, I got up to find she had ordered room service. She sat at the small, round table with me and ate it.
“What are you going to do next?” she asked.
“Put you on a plane home while I go back to where it all started for me: Dr. Meng’s sanatorium,” I said.
Jenna blinked at me for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Well, I do. I’m not losing you too.” I couldn’t get Holly’s face out of my mind—the way she’d looked as I pulled the sheet over her.
“You forget, I want revenge as much as you do. I’m in this with you. I might not have quite as good a reason to be pissed off as you do, but that remains to be seen.”
“Revenge? You mean against Robert?”
“I mean against whoever it was that changed him. He wasn’t the same man when he stepped out on me. I think this place changed him, and he might still be alive somewhere, needing my help.”
“You’re still not going with me.”
“How are you going to stop me?” Jenna was giving me a look that didn’t brook interference.
I nodded, chewing bacon. I figured Jenna was one of those women who made up lists of excuses for husbands that cheated on them. But she did have spine. She had some good points too. Maybe something had happened to Robert to change him. With all the strange things going on, it was very possible. I kept going back and forth about whether I should let Jenna have her way, while she waited patiently, arms folded as she leaned back in her chair.
“OK,” I said when we’d finished breakfast and I felt human again. “You can come with me to Meng’s, but only because you might be safer with me than staying here. And you have to do what I say. It might get dangerous.” The truth was, I needed company, and I really didn’t know what would be more or less dangerous for her. At least with her by my side, I knew where she was at all times.
“Yes, boss,” she replied, but somehow it didn’t sound all that respectful.
We reached the sanatorium in the early afternoon. Jenna clearly knew it was Holly’s car, but didn’t say a word. We didn’t park out front, but pulled to the curb a block or so away.
“What are you planning, exactly?” Jenna asked me.
I shrugged. “Nothing special. We’ll walk up to the door and ask to see the good doctor.”
“What if she doesn’t want to see you?”
“Then we’ll insist.”
I adjusted the talisman around my neck. The purse strap was uncomfortable. The finger in the small, narrow bottle rolled around inside at times—I could feel it fall over with a tiny thumping movement when I walked fast. I tried not to think about it, or the three other objects on my person. If McKesson was right about objects attracting one another, I had to be akin to a giant cartoon magnet about now.
The sanatorium was built of heavy cement bricks. Other than sheer gray walls, the institution had only one distinguishing characteristic: a tower that loomed over the front entrance. I’d read up on the place online. The building had once served the neighborhood as a chapel. The tower looked unoccupied, but I now suspected Meng lived up there. I was quite certain she never left the premises, as this was her seat of power.
I put my hand on the worn brass door handle and pulled. It didn’t budge. There was a buzzer to my left and a camera lens above that. I pressed the button for several seconds before letting up.
After a pause, I heard a female voice come over the intercom. “I’m sorry, sir, visiting hours are over for the day.”
The intercom was scratchy, but I thought I recognized the voice of the nurse I’d met some days earlier under unpleasant circumstances. What was her name? Miranda, as I recalled. Her tone was professional, but I could tell that Miranda didn’t want to meet me again.
I looked into the camera, but I didn’t smile. I hadn’t shaved for a while, and my eyes weren’t welcoming. All I could think of was Holly and other friends, most of whom I’d apparently forgotten about. Someone was going to have to do a lot of explaining, and possibly pay a price.
“Open the door, Miranda,” I said.
Another pause. “I’m sorry, Mr. Draith, but you’ll have to—”